


O my friends, there is no friend.

by sixtieshairdo



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 04:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtieshairdo/pseuds/sixtieshairdo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles' stream-of-consciousness about friendship, love and loss after he gets a bullet in his spine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O my friends, there is no friend.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this ficlet comes from Jacques Derrida's opening statement in 'The Politics of Friendship'. (That book is _magnificent_. Nearly blinded me, yes, but magnificent nonetheless.)
> 
> I like the statement because it is paradoxical, and I like things that keep going round and round; things that defeat easy definition. Much like the friendship between Charles and Erik.

when it hits him, he is startled not by the searing unforgiving pain, but by the way time slows everything around him. the air stands still, the skies hang delicately above his wet eyes, the graceful arch of his back poised a little too long midair, the empty gaping mouth wide with nothing but a question and a prayer.

when the earth rises to his chest, the angry ground punching time back into momentum, he feels a sardonic voice navigate inside his mind.

 _really, erik? again? first you slide a coin through my - well, shaw's but you_ knew _i was there - brain; blinding me, killing me because of your revenge, and now you're crippling me to the floor?_

the sand is dry dusty defeat. he tastes blood at the back of his throat and remembers teeth and lips in a time not too long ago when erik promised his heart; silver platter, bloodied (yet still beating) organ and all.

the sand turns into erik's hardened face, the grey helmet shines too brightly in the sun, and he realizes that erik is cradling his head with uncharacteristic care. he sees vengeance, the thirst for destruction once more rearing its ugly head, erik's magnificent hand striking at the chains around moira's neck, choking stiffening breaking her.

 _is this it? is this you? shutting yourself out, away from me, thirsty for blood in exchange for bloodshed?_

 _the lines of your face cut through you. the layer of metal that separates our minds cannot sever my instincts. i've studied those lines too many times, my friend. i've touched and tasted, built and broken their movements._

 _no erik, this is_ your _own doing. this is_ your _undoing. unravelling the ties between us - first the helmet, then the coin, now the bullet. you don't trust me? i_ made _you. i opened up that memory, taught and trained you, let you inside me, around me, beyond me._

 _you're_ mine, _erik_.

he speaks, at last, putting erik in his rightful place with a few choice words and shuddering breaths. erik releases moira, apparently stunned by the damage _he_ was responsible for. erik moves his lips, words like paper ghosts twisting into new possibilities. despite the blooming pain behind his eyes, he can see erik's honesty flicker across his face, not manic anymore, hoping wanting needing him.

the hand that cradles his head barely moves its grip but he can feel erik's heartbeat race. he feels a wave of despair rise inside him, urgently rolling past his windpipe, over his throat, past his lips...

but.

he doesn't say yes. he doesn't nod his head with a determined look in his eyes. he just, he _can't_.

he chokes out a bitter laugh which sounds far too gentle for his liking but he smiles through the goodbye anyway. despite everything - the physical torment of today and the emotional puncture of the rest of tomorrows - he knows he does not fault erik for the weapon that he has become.

he does not fault _himself_ for trying to keep a lion as a pet. even dangerous creatures have tenderness within them. if it was any consolation at all, when he had accessed erik's brightest memory, he remembers sliding past several memories sitting close by, all of him, all of _them_.

lingering a hair's breadth away, chess pieces and wine, words over laughter and then more words - _always_ words - knowing glances, comforting silences, the blue of his eyes twinkling bright from each memory.

he has never spoken aloud to erik about this accidental find but somehow, he feels that erik knows anyway. their friendship after that had changed drastically, quickly escalating into forgotten chess games, usually interrupted by erik's greedy hands and mouth. being alone with erik effectively led to post-coital conversations that had nothing to do with the oncoming war.

their relationship, though separated by their ideals, always found a meeting point somewhere between their minds and lips.

and now...

he finds himself staring at that gleaming metal helmet with heartbreak. that's just it. the fact that it is still on erik's head like an armour - a shield, to keep him out - says more than anything erik could've possibly verbalized.

when erik finally moves away, gesturing almost unkindly to moira to come and replace him, he feels the tear inside this chest grow angry with disappointment.

raven says goodbye. erik doesn't.

against his better judgment, he thinks to himself, bitter release scraping at his insides.

 _o my friend, you were never mine._


End file.
